


Might as Well Jump

by Vulgarweed



Series: Neither Side Created Kink Memes [1]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M, Sex in a Church
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-16
Updated: 2012-06-16
Packaged: 2017-11-07 20:53:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/435334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vulgarweed/pseuds/Vulgarweed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>L'appel du vide</i> (the appeal of the void) is the French phrase for the intense, if brief, urge to jump from high places. It manifests differently in beings who can fly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Might as Well Jump

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Good Omens Kink Meme (version 1.0), August 2008.
> 
> **Prompt:**   
>  _\- Crowley/Aziraphale (or vice versa)  
>  \- Sex in the pulpit (http://i38.tinypic.com/350ue0y.jpg) (there's a ramp that leads up to a little platform, which is where a minister does their sermon) in the Baptistry of St. John (http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/c/c5/PisaBaptistry20020323.JPG) (Pisa, Italy).  
> \- Extra: hissing! I love when Crowley hisses. xD  
> \- Please and thank you! ♥_

"You shouldn't be here."

The acoustics of the domed marble chamber gave Aziraphale's voice a sonourous echo as his humble priest's disguise started to fray with agitation.

"Really? You figured that out all by yourself?" There was something harsh and brittle in Crowley's voice, and his face was already starting to look a little stressed and pale.

Aziraphale found the baptistry and its expensive marble with its ostentatious carvings rather _showy,_ but beautiful in its way, and he'd thought the nasty prickle on his aura when he'd felt Crowley's presence had to do with a demon defiling sacred space. But he was coming to realise it was quite a bit more complicated than that.

There was something in Crowley's expression that Aziraphale did not like. Something superficially jovial but a little hard and wild underneath, something that made Aziraphale think of another St. John and some very questionable mushrooms.

It only got worse as Crowley approached the font itself, eyes oddly shining as a hand of his reached out towards the carved marble, his gaze fixed upon the luxurious bath of holy water inside.

Almost but not quite unconsciously, Aziraphale took a small swaying step, almost and yet not quite positioning himself between Crowley and the deceptively placid waters.

"Why _are_ you here?" Aziraphale asked.

"Er...looking for you. We ought to talk. But..."

"You know my favourite tavern, we were there just two days ago."

"Yes, well...it's..." With an effort, Crowley lifted his eyes from the baptismal font and looked all around the grand room, hissing softly to hear the lingering echo, glancing up to the expensively carved pulpit. Then he looked back at the water. "Have you ever stood with a human on a high place?" he asked quietly.

"I'm sure at some point, I have done," said Aziraphale, not at all sure where this was going, but he hoped it was in a direction that took Crowley far away from the font.

"I mean...and _talked_ to them? Because that's the very funny thing, I mean, not like funny ha-ha, but funny peculiar. They're pretty impressive with the survival instinct, aren't they? And yet, to a soul...you get them up somewhere high...and they all say there is something in the brain, something in the gut, something in the feet that's just craving to...you know... _jump." ___

"I think....if I were to think about it...I might sort of understand...."

"Nuh-uh," said Crowley. "We don't. We could jump. We can fucking fly, it won't mean a thing. I mean, to, as they see it, jump. It's not like suicide, not really, they don't necessarily want to die at all, they just want to...do something quick. And irrevocable."

"Are you drunk?"

"Not yet," said Crowley, staring past him, hand reaching out for the marble edge.

Aziraphale would not understand what came over him until much, much later - it only mattered that something did: a shadow, a light, a surge of energy. He _did_ understand. And he placed himself fully between Crowley and the baptismal font, between the demon's two hands, turning that sharp chin up until he was sure those haunted yellow eyes saw him fully, and then he grabbed Crowley's belt and pulled the demon with him, away, up the ramp and into the pulpit with its graceful carvings, its winged lectern, its superior vantage point.

Once he'd taken hold of Crowley and pulled him close, he was not about to let go. In fact, there were things like doublet, codpiece, hose, cloak, he found very intrusive, and started to work at getting rid of all of them, pretending the dilated, shocked stare was just par for the course.

"Angel....???" said the demon, making no effort whatsoever to resist, and in fact, doing many things to co-operate, including tugging at Aziraphale's cassock that was only gilding the lily of holiness anyway, and the energy concealed there was turning out to be just perfect for his purposes.

"I think I _do_ understand, Crowley. You don't want to hurt yourself, not really. You just want to...remember when Caesar crossed the Rubicon? He was afraid. Didn't really believe he was going to be able to do it until it was too late, and there was no turning back."

"I thought--NNNGH!" Crowley said, as Aziraphale attacked him in the best possible way, with hands and mouth at once, his throat and his cock both under delicious siege. He looked up into Aziraphale's dusk-blue eyes, and saw precisely the kind of wildness he had tried and failed to describe. "Yessssss. Like....falling," he whispered as he found himself lifted to the podium. He wanted to squirm around wildly, to bend over, to open and offer himself. And he would. But he wanted to watch those eyes a little longer, hear what that husky voice had to say.

"And I've thought of it too, dear boy. I don't know what you did to Fall. But I wonder. In the dark of the night, I think of it often. What would it take? What did it feel like?"

"You don't want to, angel. Pleasssse don't...."

"No, I really don't. And you don't want to jump into a font of holy water either. But we both want to _jump."_

"Oh fuck," Crowley panted. "Oh yesssss," he gasped, splayed across the lecturn, the arched ceiling of the baptistry spinning in his head as Aziraphale took one of his knees in each hand and looked down at him in between. 

"It probably won't kill me to have my way with you in a holy place," Aziraphale said matter-of-factly. "But it _feels_ so very dangerous, doesn't it?"

Crowley arched his back, both away from the tingling blessed marble and up into Aziraphale's first, unexpectedly full thrust.

It _was_ what he came for. More than once.


End file.
